


Butterfly

by MaudeZbornak



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben and Kylo Like to Share, Ben and Kylo are twins, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Fashion Show, Lingerie, Love Triangles, Multi, No Incest, No Twincest, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - M/F/M, breylo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaudeZbornak/pseuds/MaudeZbornak
Summary: "I saw her first," said Ben."I'll fuck her first," said Kylo.Ben stared down his brother. "You sure about that?"~Preparation is underway for the annual Organa Intimates fashion show, and Rey is determined to be an Organa "Butterfly." When her agent won't submit her for consideration she takes it upon herself to get the attention of Organa's owners.Brothers Ben and Kylo rarely fight over women. It happened once and ended badly. They are determined not to repeat history, until a late applicant crosses their path...
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	1. Tell Me Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Breylo. I've wanted to write one for a while. Hope you enjoy it. Content warnings and additional tags will be added as I go along. No twincest/incest in this one.
> 
> This work is inspired by this prompt: https://twitter.com/reylo_prompts/status/1354474247901638659
> 
> Always happy to follow Reylos on Twitter. Hit me up at @maude_zbornak.
> 
> Chapter One notes: remnants of Ben's spontaneous one-night stand.

Rey found her agent, Poe Dameron, at his usual booth at his favorite delicatessen late Wednesday morning. She pushed past the long line queued at the hostess stand, ignoring accusations of cutting, and marched straight up to the good-for-nothing bum just as a waitress set down a pastrami on rye the size of an adult human head.

She slapped a letter-sized envelope on the table, said, “You’re fired,” and turned on her heel to exit.

“Rey, get back here.”

She kept walking. Nothing Poe could say or do, short of _I was wrong, and I will fix this_ stood to change her mind. She reached the door and was about to step into the freezing January wind when her phone sounded the arrival of a text.

_Come back and I’ll explain._

Rey cinched her coat, holding the collar to her throat, and waited. People in line glared. “You in or you out, lady?” somebody barked. _Lady_. Not Rey. The stares were born of annoyance, not recognition. She’d hired Poe to help change that, and he wasn’t doing his job.

Her phone rang now. Poe.

Sighing, she cut back through the line to more outrage and slumped into the bench opposite Poe. “This better be the best damn reason in the world. Like, somebody died or is dying.”

Poe gestured to Mount Sandwich in front of him. “Help me eat this?”

“Ugh no.” Rey’s body was her livelihood. She stared down the monstrosity as the sodium count alone spun large numbers in her head. “Just tell me why you’re not doing your job so I can fire you again and leave.”

“I _am_ doing my job. I got two national magazine spreads and a shampoo commercial lined up. Five figures each,” Poe said. “You’re also shortlisted to be the new face of Kanata.” He referred to a popular fragrance whose previous spokesperson retired from the business. “Your damn face is going up in Times Square. Rey Skye is soon to be a household name on the level of Cindy and Gisele. Don’t tell me I’m not doing my job.”

“I want Organa Intimates.”

Poe was blunt. “They don’t want you.”

The heat of her anger crept up her neck. Poe must have seen her ready to boil over and he pushed aside his lunch.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said, calmer. “They’re not scouting the agencies looking for legit models for their show. As long as you’ve been in this business, you should know how Organa operates. They’ve always recruited from the ‘private sector.’” Poe made air quotes. “It’s their M.O. Sexy underthings for the people.”

“I’m aware of that,” Rey said. “I’m the people, too. I’m also an Organa customer. It stands to reason I have as much a chance at a spot in their show as anybody else. How do they know they don't want me unless they _see_ me?”

The annual Organa Intimates show, coming on its third year, was one of the most anticipated of fashion events. Every year it was held in a different location and date, to correspond with the show’s theme. Since the late Leia Organa’s twin sons had taken charge, the company saw massive success, no doubt in part due to these televised runway shows.

Well, that and the way their marketing appealed to the public. Sexy underthings for the people, indeed. Organa Intimates made their lingerie available in every size. The diversity of models in their catalog and social media reflected their core values. Surely, she also belonged, right?

Rey knew from insider buzz that this year’s theme, Butterflies, drew from a new collection designed by the brothers themselves. The show, to air on the first day of Spring, would preview the second generation of this line, scheduled to hit stores in the summer.

Rey wanted in that show. She wanted to be an Organa Butterfly.

“They’ve used professional models in the past,” she pointed out. “With Phasma retired and out, there has to be room for me, Poe.”

Poe picked at his sandwich. “They’re not talking to agents, Rey. You can fire me, go to another agency and they’ll tell you the same thing,” he said. “Why don't you let me secure work from companies who will hire you? I think you’ll be happier for it.”

Rey refused to let this go. Since signing with Dameron, her cache had steadily risen. She had to give him some credit. Like he said, she was on the cusp of supermodel status. Inclusion in the Organa catalog, and the show, stood to push her onto the precipice. There must be a way.

Poe watched her, no doubt seeing the gears cranking. “You’re not going to back down, are you? Look, the only shot you have is to sell yourself,” he said. “You’ve seen their website, you know where the form is. Fill it out and good luck.”

“What? The same Google form everybody and her sister is using?” Rey shook her head. “Does anybody actually read those entries?”

“They do, Rey. The brothers go through every form. They’re quite thorough in that regard.” Poe brought up the call for models on his phone and showed her form. “From the looks of things, you have less than twenty-fours to submit your interest. Fill it out and good luck.

“Now,” he added, tugging his plate back in front of him, “last call to split this.”

Rey took back the letter officially meant to separate herself from Dameron and got up from her seat, nauseated at the thought of one bite. “Try not to choke.”

“I love you, too, Rey. Call you next week.”

***

Wednesday morning at six, Ben Solo’s phone alarm sounded a sad piano melody that slowly drew him from a wild, sex-induced dream. He reached out and slapped around his nightstand until he hit the right button and drifted back into sleep. The reprieve was short.

Movement from the other side of the bed jostled him back to consciousness. He turned on his side, facing away with his eyes closed, and waited. He heard no footsteps, just near quiet sounds of hands gathering up clothes and shoes. A mild curse after stubbing a body part on a corner of the dresser or bed frame. Rustling fabric, a zipper closing, keys jangling. She was sneaking out without saying goodbye.

Probably for the best. She wasn’t a planned interlude and it would appear rude of him to check the email from her delivery service for a reminder of her name.

Footfalls faded into the distance and he waited for the front door to snick open and shut, allowing him to fully awake. He wasn’t expecting a third party to interrupt said interlude’s walk of shame.

“Well, hello there. What’s your name, and why didn’t Ben call me over last night to play?”

Ben cringed and opened his eyes. His brother was talking loud on purpose. He wanted Ben to hear this.

The woman’s voice was inaudible to him. Whatever she said, the response came as, “You’re not leaving on my account, I hope? Stay for breakfast. Maybe more than that.”

Agitated sounds and apologies followed, then more entreaties. Then a door slammed.

Ben sat up as his twin brother Kylo filled the doorway. He held a drink holder with two coffees and a brown paper sack. Grin wider than the span of the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge.

“Tell. Me. Everything. You glorious son of a bitch.”

“I should never have given you a key.” Ben reached for his glasses and put them on. “Why are you here so screamingly early, unless you’re leaving one party and on your way to the next and stopped to give me grief?”

“You know why, unless your tumble with Miss Uber Eats caused a lapse in memory. She left her insulated bag here, by the way.” Kylo set the food down in Ben’s lap, removed his coat and shoes, and crawled onto the side of the bed the interlude had vacated. “We should call her back to come get it.”

_More like Miss Take_. “We should leave her the hell alone.” He should have accepted last night’s delivery with a simple thank you and closed the door on her. He should have thanked her and cut communication short when the woman, on recognizing him, had gushed about how much she loved her Butterfly negligee. He should never have invited her in to see his sketches.

But he was lonely, and she was a stunning blonde who bore more than a passing resemblance to a memory that wouldn’t fade. _Gwennie’s gone_ , he had to remind himself. _Forget about her._

Kylo took one of the coffees and opened the bag. “I don’t see the problem. You had some well-earned, no-strings fun last night and I’m proud of you,” he said when Ben vented his feelings. “I am finally rubbing off on you. Next time call, though.”

“What are we eating?” Ben removed the lid on his cup. Jamaican Blue Mountain, black. _Bring me back to life so I can tolerate this man._

“Bagels and lox from Maz and Daughters. I tried to get one of the daughters to join us but Maz threw me out.” Kylo removed the foil from his sandwich. “I think I’m banned for life now. You’ll have to get us food from there going forward.”

“You failed to bring a woman here and failed to get Miss Uber Eats to stay. Maybe I’m the one rubbing off on you.” Ben set aside his breakfast and got out of bed. “Move all this to the media room, please? I need to shower and dress.”

“You’re rather cranky for a guy who got laid last night,” Kylo called.

Ben poked his head out of his bathroom. “You’re rather eager to get to work for a guy who’s let me do all the heavy lifting the last five years.”

Kylo crossed his legs and put his arms behind his head. “I’m here to help now, aren’t I? Choosing the new Butterflies is a serious business. I can’t have you shouldering the burden of looking at sexy model pictures all morning.”

Ben cranked on the shower. “Thank you for carving the time into your busy schedule.” Somewhere between sloth and lust. And more lust.

“You’re welcome,” Kylo called over the rush of running water.


	2. Chapter 2

Home and warm in her pink chenille robe, Rey fell into the rabbit hole that was the Organa Intimates website. She stayed away from the ecom side, knowing she’d have a cart full of delicates well into the four-figure price if she wasn't careful. Thanks to a few contracts that allowed her to keep the clothes, her wardrobe was close to bursting as it was.

She clicked _Our Story_ and opened a page to an elegant portrait of the company’s founder, Leia Organa. Like other success stories, Leia’s had been born to fill a need. Shopping for attractive clothing, particularly intimate apparel, following giving birth to twins had left the woman feeling inadequate and frustrated. Using design skills perfected with later in life schooling, she created lingerie that fit her well and made an impression with the one person who mattered most...besides her, of course.

Soon, friends asked Leia to design and sew chemises and nightgowns for them. One friend, a buyer for the Calrissian’s department store chain, helped bring her creations to the public. The exposure brought sales and growth, and a greater demand, and soon Leia was able to quit her job to focus on her new venture.

Twenty-five years later, when she passed, Organa Intimates had become one of the most profitable private companies in the world. Her sons, Ben and Kylo Ren Solo, were named CEO and COO respectively and worked to elevate the brand based on Leia’s maxim: All bodies are beautiful.

Rey lounged in bed with her laptop, absorbing the company’s history. Next to her lay a copy of _Kenobi_ Magazine, the “500 to Watch” issue celebrating the movers and shakers of finance and business. The brothers, each in matching charcoal suits, had the cover, and Rey couldn’t stop flicking her gaze at them.

For identical twins, two men never looked so different. Their hair and faces were similar, yes, but distinct features gave them away. Ben, his expression serious with piercing dark eyes, sported a mustache and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Kylo, who went professionally by his first and middle names, smiled with mischief and bedroom eyes. No glasses, clean shaven, and a light scar down his right cheek.

Rey had heard different stories about its origin. He’d wrecked a Ferrari driving too fast in the Italian Alps. He’d fended off the jealous husband of an award-winning actress. He’d crashed through the window of a bar during a fight. Kylo never confirmed the rumors, but seemed to prefer to bask in the myths. Lurid stories about his brother, if any existed, Rey had yet to hear.

To become one of their Butterflies, she had to impress both of them. According to the _Kenobi_ profile, no decision at Organa Intimates pushed through without the approval of both brothers.

Rey called up the model submission form and read the instructions twice. She wanted no technicalities to disqualify her. She filled out every question, answering honestly. When she came to the final task, submitting a photo, she studied the requirements.

They wanted no portfolio shots. They wanted to see every model as they were, raw and natural and comfortable in their own skin. Organa Intimates promised to see to the enhancement of every model chosen for the event, so they wanted no surprises. Fine. Rey was ready to deliver.

She selected a no-makeup shot of herself seated at home in her blue Butterfly nightgown. Spaghetti straps and a deep V-neck, one long slit up the right leg. Rey sat in a manner that exposed it all the way to her hip, and posed with one strap hanging loose off one shoulder. Sweet, alluring, looking for a cuddle and some trouble. Rey hoped the photo conveyed everything the brothers wanted.

With a silent prayer, she clicked send. An hour to spare on the deadline, perhaps saving the best for last. “Go on, Butterfly,” she whispered. “Let’s soar.”

***

With his laptop hooked up to the big screen, Ben settled in next to his brother on the dual leather recliner, coffees and bagels between them. “Let me see your hands,” he told Kylo.

“Why?”

“I want you to keep them out of your pants this time.”

Kylo barked out a laugh. “Bro, I’m done with high school. Come on.” When Ben didn’t budge his gaze, Kylo made a show of picking up his sandwich. “This is all I’m going to do with my hands today, happy?”

“No.” Ben slapped a legal pad, pen clipped to it, against his brother’s thigh. “You’re also taking notes.” Today’s mission was to choose twenty models for each unique look. The second generation of the Butterfly line worked differently than the last in that within it the brothers had conceived two distinct color schemes, black with blue highlights for Kylo and blue with black highlights for Ben. The models would be split along those lines, and as such both brothers searched for unique qualities among the over two hundred applicants.

Kylo whistled at the number. “That’s twice as many as last year,” he said and pulled out his phone. “I should order lunch and another one of Maz’s daughters.”

“Worry about it later.” The work began. Right off the bat, they were able to eliminate about fifteen applicants who didn’t fill out the form correctly -- all had forgotten to upload pictures. From there, they breezed through a first round of “yes or no” until reaching a more manageable number of fifty potential choices.

Here, the brothers took their time to study the pictures and determine if the models in question best suited the Blue or Black line, or neither. If they came up short in the final cycle, they’d sort through the rejections for a second chance round.

Ben announced, “Rose Tico.” Her photo flashed on the big screen.

“Very nice,” Kylo said. “Don’t know about you, but I am def getting Blue vibes from her.”

“I agree. Mark her as a yes.”

Kylo drew a line down the middle of the top sheet and wrote Rose’s name under the Blue column. He looked at Ben. “Let me know how she is in bed, alright?”

Ben kept his gaze on the laptop. “I’m not fucking any more models.”

“You say that every year.”

His heart hadn’t been broken every year. Just the last one. It bothered Ben a bit that Kylo seemed to feel nothing following that show. He knew his brother didn’t lack a soul, but sometimes he wondered.

“I mean it this time,” he said.

Kylo didn’t push it. He turned back to the screen and they eliminated a few more applicants.

“Bazine Netal,” Ben announced, bringing up a photo of a young woman who could have passed for one of the burlesque SuicideGirls.

“Black,” Kylo said immediately. No arguments from Ben. The process continued until they reached the end of the list. Kylo stabbed the pen point over the pad, counting nine models for each of them.

“Right.” Ben downed the last of his lukewarm coffee. “From the top.”

“No,” said Kylo. “None of those others will do. I know we have to choose alternates from that batch, but none of them grabbed me by the throat.”

Throat. _Heh_. Not the body part his brother intended to say, probably, but Ben let it go.

“Maybe we just stick with what we have, double up on a model if we must, or shorten the show a bit. It’s going to be sliced up for commercials anyway.”

Ben regarded his brother. The other man looked tired; maybe the partying was starting to catch up. “Are you actually suggesting we don’t look at any more sexy pictures?”

“I want to be moved, Ben. You may see a total goof when you look at me, but I put my energy into this company, too.” Kylo balled up the foil sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the air. “We have standards. I won’t pick a model at random because there’s a space to fill, and you won’t either.”

Kylo had a point. Every decision was unanimous. “Well, the deadline hasn’t passed yet,” Ben said, and checked the clock on his computer. “Actually, it has.” He returned to the form database to check on any entries slid under the door. “Here’s a new one...Rey Skye.”

Kylo caught the foil ball and compacted it further in his large hands. “Name’s familiar.”

Ben scanned her questionnaire. “She’s done pro work.” Almost a red flag, but at least she was honest about it. Other applicants in the past weren’t above fibbing on their forms to get into the show. “Niche mags and regional commercials, but she has national work lined up. Repped by Dameron.”

A knot tightened in Ben’s chest. Dameron had repped Gwennie at one time.

“Let’s see her,” Kylo said. “She went through all that trouble of applying at the last possible minute. I don’t want Poe Dameron coming back at us that we didn’t at least give her a look.”

Ben clicked the link to bring up her photo, and Rey’s negligee portrait filled the screen. And blew their minds.

“Blue,” said Ben.

“Black,” said Kylo at the same time.

Ben snatched away the legal pad. “I saw her first,” he said.

“I’ll fuck her first,” said Kylo, equally serious.

Ben stared down his brother. “You sure about that?”

“You said you weren't fucking any more models.”

Ben didn't respond. The hard gaze standoff stretched for several seconds until Kylo broke the silence. “You know what this means, right?”

“No.”

“You do,” Kylo insisted.

“I meant no, I’m not going through that again.” Ben gripped the pen hard. He heard the casing crack.

“Look at her, Ben.” Kylo’s gaze flicked to the side, taking in the beauty on the screen. “I know you have sketches left over from last year.”

“Stop it.” Those were for Gwennie.

“Give them to me. We’ll revise them for Rey Skye. We’ll do another hybrid Butterfly. We will fucking own the market and break the Internet,” Kylo said, focusing on Ben again. “She’s perfect for it.”

“I know.” Ben gave his attention to the screen again. Devoid of makeup, lips parted and eyes searing into his soul, Rey Skye was a Butterfly. No denying it. Already ideas flooded his mind for how to dress her for the show. In blue.

He wanted her, and not just for the runway or the catalog. He watched Kylo turn back to the screen and knew his brother felt the same way.

This was Gwennie all over again. He swore it wouldn’t happen a second time.

“You know Gwennie wasn’t the one,” Kylo said. “I liked her too, but she wasn’t strong enough. This woman seems different.”

“This is a photo,” said Ben. “It only tells us so much.”

“Her eyes tell me,” Kylo said. “She’s determined. She wants to be a Butterfly. You want your inspiration back.” He sat up straight. “I want her, so do you, and I think we can all get what we want.”

Kylo took the pad. Ben didn’t resist. Kylo wrote Rey’s name under each column. “Give me the old hybrid sketches,” he said. “I think we should get to work.”

“No,” Ben said, and reached for the wirebound notebook and colored pencils by his seat. He kept them in every room of the apartment. “Let’s do something new for her.”

“We got enough time for that?”

“I’ll sew it myself if I have to,” Ben said, sketching.


End file.
